Rebel in Reverse
by RecklessAbandon777
Summary: Sometimes you feel that each step you take is bringing you steadily closer to your own impending demise. But you've tried running before; somehow you always end up back where you started. The only way out is a fight, but there's no guarantee you or your brothers will make it out alive. You're playing Russian Roulette with the Devil. And you're not being facetious.
1. Prayer of the Refuge

I don't own Supernatural or "Prayer of the Refuge" by Rise Against.

**I**

**Prayer of the Refuge**

* * *

><p><span>*30 years in the future*<span>**  
><strong>

As James Winchester burst into flames, his body destroyed and soul ascending to heaven, two angels watched in disappointment as the last hope for salvation was struck down by evil.

"I don't understand" the brooding male lamented to his companion. "He was supposed to be the one, chosen to deliver us."

"And yet," the woman replied softly, "he has lost this battle. We could resurrect him a thousand times, and the outcome would not change."

"So what now? We have spent centuries perfecting this bloodline. Do we simply surrender? Or start from scratch?"

"Perhaps there is something we have overlooked" the man contemplated. "Some stone we have left unturned." The woman's eyes widened slightly, as she suggested, "You don't think..."

"Yes," her partner supplied. "Another Winchester?"

"It was forseen long ago. But it was denounced because of Azazel's neccesary role."

"That can be adjusted accordingly, he is a mere demon." The lady's voice euphoric as she assured, "I can see it. This is the path to take, I am certain. When all this is said and done, that unborn child will be the one to liberate us and restore balance."

The angel nodded his approval and spoke austerely, "Then you know what must be done."  
>Without disturbing so much as a single blade of grass, the angels vanished, taking that reality along with them.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Don't hold me up now, I can stand my own ground, I don't need your help now, you will let me down, down, down!<em>

You stare mindlessly out the window at the dreary gray sky. The crows are gathering on barren branches. The sound of their cawing can be heard clearly through the open crack of the classroom window. They remind you of winters spent hunting in the forest. It gives you a chill because you hated those hunts with a passion. Yet, sitting in this classroom, with its graffitied desks and pealing lead paint, you can't help but miss the freedom of it all. One of the crows caws again, and you think about how crows are an omen of death.

Daniela nudges you, your eyes immediately focus on the teacher. She asked you a question. You have no idea what she said so you fall back on a smartass reply. It gains you a few laughs from the bored teenagers in the room and a detention from Miss-no-sense-of-humor. You don't care because suddenly, you have a feeling you won't be around to serve it.

Daniela asks if you're alright. Like always you nod your head and remain silent. The sharp January air pricks you skin like needles and for a moment you debate whether or not it would be rude to put you headphones in while she is walking with you. Before the decision is made, your silence is interrupted by some boys from school. They want to know if you and Daniela can hang out tonight. Daniela can't because of her curfew, but since you don't have one you say "Might as well."

"You can't go places alone like that." Daniela reprimands. "It's not safe."

You want to laugh at her idea of an unsafe time, but stop yourself. Not before a grin sneaks onto your face however. Daniela notices and, taking it as a sign you're in a good mood, begins to gab about the boys who asked you to hang out.

You mentally mute her bubbly little voice and allow your thoughts to wander. Daniela is actually a better friend than you give her credit for. She puts up with the mood swings, spacing out, and general disinterest that is basically the fine print for being your friend. It's not that you don't try to apply yourself to the whole 'high school' experience, but you can't seem to make yourself want any part of it no matter how hard you try. The word popular sounds cheesy and frilly in your head, so you try to think of a synonym. All you come up with is well-liked and accepted. The later seems to be the better choice in this situation. The student body of Henderson, Nevada has accepted you. Part of it amuses you because you doubt you could be more anti-social if you tried. But you'd be lying to yourself if you said there was nothing fun about it. Spending time with normal people your age is a good thing, but maybe you'd enjoy it better if it didn't feel so much like a waiting game.

"Ah shit", you say to yourself as you wait in Principal Clements' office. You don't know for sure why you're here, but you guess it has something to do with your not-so-legal living arrangements. As you begin to formulate some sort of escape plan the secretary interrupts and ushers you into Clements' office with a grim look on her blotchy face. You scan the room and notice it hasn't changed much since your last visit. The same cheap blinds hang from both of the stained windows, the desk looks like it's been there since the 19th century, and there is a veritable swamp of paper work littering the floor. You barely have time to wonder if you just stepped on someone's birth certificate before the social worker catches your eye.

You feel like blowing your brains out, but you settle for cursing out everybody and their mother's in your head. How do you know she's a social worker? You've got a 6th sense about those kinds of things. You can spot a social worker just as quick as you can spot an undercover or a nark. The game's up and you know it. There are only three exits on this floor and you not near any of them. You think about making a break for it when Principal Clements himself enters the cramped office. He remains standing in front of the door and gestures for you to sit in the worn out chair to you left. The defeat is really sinking in now as you lower yourself onto the stone-cold seat. Deciding to play it cool you wait for Clements to say something.

He clear's his throat and strokes his mustache. Glancing at the social worker he begins a not-so-well-rehearsed monologue. "Uh Miss Woodrow, it has come to my attention that-"

"Winchester"

"Uh, excuse me?" he asks looking confused.

"My name," you continue with a confidence you don't feel, "is Winchester."

"Oh, uh of course." He fumbles a bit more and you get the feeling you broke his stride. After a while he pulls himself together and continues his harangue.

"Yes Miss Winchester, it has come to my attention that you have been living on your own without the care of a legal guardian. As you know, this is neither safe nor legal as you are a minor." You can't help but role your eyes at that. If he knew the things you've seen and done…well he'd hardly be calling you a minor. I have brought with me Mrs. Pryce who is a trusted employee of the social services chapter of Henderson Nevada. She is here to find a suitable home for you until you turn eighteen years of age. Please remember, you are welcome to continue the semester here at Henderson High School and the school wishes you the best of luck in you endeavors."

You wanted to laugh at the way Clements made it seem as though you'd been diagnosed with a fatal disease but a crisp _ahem_ from Mrs. Pryce grabs you attention.

She smiles a sickly sweet smile and opens the binder she has been carrying around. Pulling out several formal looking documents she starts talking to you as if you are a very slow eight year old.

"Now dear, I know it can be difficult to lose your family at such a young age-"

"They aren't dead." You feel the need to clarify that with her. Your family is alive, they just don't care all that much about where you are.

Mrs. Pryce doesn't seem to like your abrasive attitude. Her perfectly shaped eyebrows furrow slightly and she lets out another tiny cough.

"No child, I assure you they are dead. But it is perfectly normal to feel denial; it is part of the grieving process."

She pulls from her binder a death certificate for Mr. John Eric Winchester and Mr. Dean Winchester. You stare at them for a few seconds before deciding they are legitimate enough. Your face shows no emotion as you digest this new development. You don't ask how they died; you already know it wasn't pretty. Regardless of what you may be feeling inside you promise yourself you won't break in front of these people. Dad wouldn't have liked that. Dean might have got a kick from the tears, but you won't give him that either.

Silently you look up at Mrs. Pryce, her prissy face irritating you as an idea starts to form in the back of your mind. "Where am I supposed to go now?" you ask in what you hope is a nonchalant voice.

Seemingly annoyed that you didn't have much of a reaction to her dramatic display, she pulls out another document. This one has your information filled out and a picture of a family on their lawn. It screams suburbia with its quaint Caucasian mother and father, their smiling handicapped child, their smiling not-handicapped child, and friendly dog to top it all off.

You point to the picture and ask disgustedly, "Am I going to live with them?"

"Oh no dear, that's just a sample photograph. I have the paper work right here. You are going to stay with…" pausing to check her information she confirms, "the Douglas' in Lower Edgewood. They are a very nice family with a boy about your age. I am sure you will be very happy there."

You love how she makes it sound like you have a choice. Surprisingly however, you go with the social worker without a fight. As you slide into the back seat of her station wagon, you can't help but feel like a delinquent being taken to juvie. There's plexi-glass dividing the front seats from the back and you spend most of the car ride thinking about why a social worker would need that in her car.

* * *

><p><em>Before we packed our bags and left all this behind us in the dust, We had a place that we could call home, and a life no one could touch.<em>

* * *

><p>When you finally arrive at the Douglas' it's six-thirty and your stomach is growling. Wishing you had the foresight to have a good lunch before coming here you follow Mrs. Pryce out of the car and up the walkway.<p>

She checks for a reaction, but you remain stoic. It could be worse and you know it. Just because you've stumbled into the definition of a white-trash home doesn't mean you can freak out. Besides, the plan is coming to fruition and this will help speed it along. She opens the rickety screen door and waits for you to go inside. She thinks you're going to make a break for it, but she's wrong. Besides, you wouldn't get five miles in this desolate desert like town on the outskirts of Vegas. Inside isn't as bad as the outside. There is a fair amount of clutter in the one-story shack. You see a threadbare sofa, some lawn chairs and a busted TV set that seem to make up the living room. On your right's a tiny kitchen with yellow tiles and a hallway with what you assume are bedrooms.

"Mrs. Douglas! It's Mrs. Pryce from social services, we spoke on the phone."

One of the bedroom doors swings open, and Mrs. Douglas emerges. You would bet every penny you have she used to be a hooker. She has a much worn out look to her. She's probably in her early forties, but with all the wrinkles she could be fifty. Her bleached hair hasn't been treated in a while and its thinning in some places. She's definitely a smoker, which cheers you up some because there's a chance you'll be able to lift a few. Nevertheless, she greats Mrs. Pryce and they begin to discuss your living arrangements. You tune them out, it's not like you'll be here long.

You didn't realize how tired you were, but once your head hit the moth-eaten pillow there was no stopping it. It's 0700 hours and you're the only person up. Mrs. Pryce left last night, she all but ran out the door. She gave you her phone number with the instructions to call if anything goes wrong. You doubt you'll be using it; except maybe to charge a few dozen porn mags to.

After she left you got acquainted with the rest of the Douglas'. The retired hooker's name is Karen, but you suspect her street name was something like Bambi. The boy who lives there is a foster kid too, but you're making an effort to steer clear of him. He's got a psychopathic look about him and you've been around enough evil to know that it can come in all shapes and sizes. You're not sure what to make of Rob Wheeler. Mr. Douglas is called useless fucker by Mrs. Douglas and old fucker by Robby. You haven't met him yet and you're in no hurry to.

Deciding it's time to put the plan into action, you rise silently from your pullout bed. You creep down the hallway trying your damndest not to wake anyone. Picking up the receiver you offer up a silent prayer thanking God that they paid the telephone bill this month. Your fingers move swiftly as they dial the number you had memorized since four.

"_Bring Bring…This is John Winchester", _your breath hitches, "_If this is an emergency call my son Dean."_

You curse softly and begin the process a second time. When you reach Dean's voicemail you want to cry. Fingers shaking you begin to dial again. Suddenly a hand grabs your shoulder and spins you around. Your face to face with who you can only assume is Mr. Douglas himself. He's a gray-haired redneck with a beer belly and yellowing teeth; not exactly the fatherly type. You wonder why he wanted foster kids.

"Who are you?" he snarls, not letting go of you shoulder.

"I'm the new foster girl", you say boldly as you try not to let him rattle you. "Mrs. Pryce brought me here last night. Are you Mr. Douglas?"

"I guess that'd be me. It's sir to you girly. Now do me a favor and get me a beer from the fridge." He makes his way to the TV, an after a few blows to the sides, it turns itself on. He reclines on the couch and you hand him the beer.

"How old are you girly? Fifteen?"

"Seventeen" you growl.

He diverts his eyes from the screen and gives you a once over. Grunting he turns back to the TV. You take this as a sign for dismissal and promptly return to the safety of your room.

* * *

><p><em>Keep quiet no longer, We'll sing through the day, Of the lives that we've lost, And the lives we've reclaimed.<em>

* * *

><p>It's only been a week but you hate the place already. This shit-hole of a town, Karen the ex-prostitute, creepy Rob, and bi-polar daddy are about as bad as it gets. You haven't had a chance to use the phone again, but you're thinking tonight's the night. You slip past the Douglas' bedroom and into the kitchen. You almost scream when something moves behind you. When you realize it's only a rat you take a breath and pinch your arm. You wince because you forgot about the bruises decorating your body, courtesy of Mr. Douglas. Slowly, you remove the phone from its hook and punch in the numbers that represent your last and final hope.<p>

_Ring Ring Ring…_

A flood of childhood memories washes over you and at this moment you'd give just about anything for him to answer that phone.

_Ring Ring Ring…_

True, your childhood was not ideal, and you can't decide whether to love it or hate it. You recall the happy times like learning to shoot a gun, learning to hold a blade, learning about folklore and legends and it almost makes you smile, almost.

But then the bad recollections emerge, no matter how hard you try to suppress them. There's the constant fighting, the absence of a mother, your father, the moving, and the things that go bump in the night. All of them start to fill your head and you think you might collapse when something brings you back to the present.

"Hello?" a tired and hoarse voice asks. Your heart skips a beat as you take in that voice that you know so well.

"Sam?" You're surprised at how weak your voice sounds. You want the confident and slightly snarky attitude back, but you know that's not possible. You're just glad you're talking to Sam and not Dean.

"Who is this?"

"Sam, its Toni. I need your help."

* * *

><p><em>Don't hold me up now, I can stand my own ground, I don't need your help now, you will let me down.<em>

**If it wasn't obvious, you've just read a SPN sister-fic! The horror, can you believe it? Well if you like it continue reading...or not. I'm a firm believer in doing whatever the fuck you want.**

**I've got a few more chapters written, let me know if you prefer a consistent update, or a random one. **

**Until next time**

**~Whatsername **


	2. Bringing me Down

I don't own Supernatural or Down by Stemm.

**II**

**Bringing me Down**

* * *

><p><em>Name of the game, feel the pain, look into my eyes and you'll see no emotion. Everything will come right back to you, everything you put me through<em>

* * *

><p>It had been three days since you called your brother and you are getting antsy. You are reheating TV tray dinners in the Douglas' shitty microwave when creepy Rob walks in. You wonder if he can tell that's how you refer to him in your head.<p>

"Hey, some of my friends are getting together tonight. Do you wanna come?"

"What would you be doing?" you humor him. He walks towards you and says, "The usual, just stuff."

"Mmhhmm, listen Robby I'm not in the mood. Thanks anyway."

"Toni," he says, "Its ok. I know what you're going through. We're both stuck in the crappy town, but that don't mean we gotta waste our lives away."

He slides his hands around your hips and says, "We can help each other."

You turn around and push him away gently, "No thanks Robby, you're not my type."

"Well your mine", he grins and moves towards you again. Luckily Karen walks into the kitchen and sees what's going on. Taking the TV trays out of the microwave she reprimands Rob, "Leave her alone kid. I ain't raisin' no babies. Social services don't give me an extra check for that!"

As she rejoins her husband on the sofa, you finally understand why the Douglas' wanted foster kids.

* * *

><p><em>Will someone see me? Suffocate, my body's weakness. I can't breathe. Get out before it's too late<em>

* * *

><p>A car horn jolts you from your restless sleep. Elation runs through you as you open your window and see a '67 Impala in front of the house. You grab your bag from under the bed. It's nothing special, just an inconspicuous black duffel that's rarely ever been unpacked. Until Henderson, you never had a permanent home. And you realize now as you open your window and jump 10 feet to the ground, that that wasn't a permanent home either.<p>

You sprint towards the car and open the door. Flinging your bag into the backseat, you follow and yell, "Drive now!"

As that God-forsaken shack disappears into the night you turn around and realize there are two people in the front seats. "Dean?" you whisper, almost afraid he'll vanish into thin air if you speak to loudly. He turns around, cocks an eyebrow and remarks sarcastically,

"No, it's Robert Plant. Who did you expect?"

You role your eyes and remember the cool façade you promised yourself you'd keep up, no matter what. Seeing your brothers again, you know it's going to be harder than expected.

"I heard you were dead", you reply casually, "Is dad alive too?"

"As far as we know", Sam answers worriedly. "So Toni, what's going on? How did you end up in…?"

"Shitsville", Dean supplies.

"Well, long story short, child protective services found out about me living by myself. They had death certificates for you and dad, which is why I thought you had kicked the bucket. Anyway, I got put into the system and sent to this dump. By the way, thanks so much for your speedy assistance. Remind me never to call when I really need help, 'cause I'll probably be dead before you get there."

"Sorry Toni, we were busy."

"Hunting?" you guess.

"It's what we do best" Dean smirks.

"So did you catch it at least?"

Dean answers condescendingly, "We're here aren't we?"

"Wait, you were living on your own? What happened to Iris?" Sam questions.

"Past in her sleep a couple of months back. I'd been staying in her house. She had enough dough saved up to cover most of the electricity bills."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Sam asked, his voiced tinged with anger. You raise your hands defensively. "Not my fault! I called Dad a bunch of times but no answer. Not like I expected one anyway. And hell, I thought you were in college?"

"Yeah that didn't work out" Sam replied sourly.

You lapse into a silence that's bordering on awkward. You haven't seen Sam since he went to college. The last time you saw Dean was when he and your father all but abandoned you in Henderson. They basically said, "See you, have a nice life", and went right back to hunting those damn things. You were so mad at your father; you swore you would never talk to him again. Suddenly, it hits you like a ton of bricks.

"Wait, where is dad?" Sam and Dean share one of those 'should-we-tell-the-truth' looks that you hate so much. Finally, it's Sam who speaks up.

"We don't know. Dean came to get me at Stanford a few months ago. He said dad had gone off by himself and hadn't come back in a while."

"And you didn't think to tell me?" you shout. You're starting to get annoyed and you can tell old issues are rising once more.

"What do you think we've been doing? Sitting on our asses for the past few months? We've been busy looking for him and we didn't want to bring you into it." Dean shouted.

"Well I'm here now so you might as well fill me in." Dean and Sam shared another one of those looks and you want to smash their skulls together.

"We're headed for some town called Ankeny, Iowa. Some guy was found dead hanging upside down from a tree."

"Fun fact: his girlfriend was a few feet away when it happened and, you guessed it, didn't see anything", Dean adds cheerfully.

"Great, so what are we thinking, vengeful spirit?" you suggest.

"_We_ are not thinking anything. _I_ haven't decided what to do with you yet."

"Dean", you start to protest when Sam interjects, "Look, why don't you just get some sleep. We'll figure this out in the morning."

"Yeah", Dean adds, "You look like crap."

"Bite me", you taunt and cross your arms over your chest. But you can't keep your stance for long, and soon you're drifting into sleep. For the first time in a long time, even though you're speeding down a dark causeway in a car with someone who's supposed to be dead and a stash of lethal weapons in the trunk, you feel safe.

* * *

><p><em>Never look away, never look away, cause once you slip you're out of my way. Practice this one thing I say. Never let this get away from me.<em>

**So there's another chapter. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, the story is getting progressively more awful as we continue. So review...or not.**

**_~Whatsername_**


	3. Too Much Too Soon

I do not own Supernatural (if I did, then CW wouldn't be pulling this mid series break bull shit every few weeks) or Too Much Too Soon by Green Day. 

Maybe it's just me, but I always find listening to the song while you read very insightful.

**III  
><strong>

**Too Much Too Soon**

* * *

><p><em>She's always living like she's running out of time. Too much just ain't enough to keep her satisfied. Her plastic card is filled with nothing comes to mind. It's now her occupation that she's overqualified.<em>

* * *

><p>"Rise and shine blondie", Dean shouts in an overly cheery voice as he shakes your shoulder. You flinch away from his touch and examine your surroundings.<p>

"This is it?" you ask stepping out of the car and hoisting your bag over your uninjured shoulder. "Yup. Welcome to Ankeny, population 2, the girlfriend of the dead kid and this supernatural killer." Dean chuckles at his own little joke and leads the way into the motel lobby.

As Dean, Sam and you all pile into one room, Sam begins the discussion of the case. "So we know the circumstances of Rich's death are suspicious. Other than that, we're pretty light on evidence. I say we make a visit to the dorm rooms, see what kind of supernatural hoodoo might be left over."

"Great", you chime in, doing your best to seem enthusiastic, "What's out disguise."

"Whoa there! I never said you were going anywhere! Me and Sammy will scope the place out. You can wait here and do some research." Dean commands firmly.

"Hell no!" you argue. "I am not sitting in some dingy motel while you guys get to be on the frontlines! If I have to be doing this again I'm gonna do it right."

"Listen Toni, I'm the oldest, so I'm in charge here. If you're not going to listen to me, then I don't know why we sprung you from that house in the first place."

You glare at your oldest brother, "What are you gonna do huh? Send me back?"

"I just might"

"No you won't"

"Oh really," Dean challenges, "Why not?"

You hesitate only for a moment. You hate playing the victim card so ostensibly, but your desire to stay as far away as possible from the Douglas' overpowers your pride. So you bridge the distance between you and Dean, and shove your arms in his face.

"That's why! What's the matter Dean? Not proof enough for you? Cause I got more where that came from." Sliding your sleeve off your shoulder you show him the dark purple bruise that covers it.

You're breathing fast and your eyes are searching Dean for a reaction of some kind. His heart rate seems to have accelerated and his face is twisted into an unpleasant grimace. He can't seem to form any words. All he can manage to do is grab his old leather jacket off the motel bed and walk out the door, slamming it behind him.

"Dean!" Sam yells. He looks back at you and then at the door Dean disappeared behind. You can see it in his eyes, he's torn.

"Go," you tell him. You never thought yourself the type, but watching your performance now you know you're pretty damn good at playing the martyr.

Putting a hand on your unbruised shoulder he looks you in the eye and says, "We'll talk about this later, I promise." With those parting words, he runs out the door.

* * *

><p><em>The looks are always so deceiving. The truth is always misconstrued. Too much too soon, t<em>_oo little and now you're coming unglued. Too much too soon, too late and now it sucks to be you._

* * *

><p>You decide to get some research done while you're waiting for those two idiots to come back. You don't pretend to know why Dean does the things he does, but you do know him. You know he ran off because you made him face a problem. Not just a demonic problem, but an emotional problem. One that was personal, and Dean doesn't do personal.<p>

So you were a bit of a drama queen, but you needed something from him. Even the slightest hint that he cared about you at all would be enough. You've spent the better part of a year trying to figure out why your father left you like he did. You've had a million theories, but you won't be satisfied until you here it straight from John Winchester's mouth. The trouble is you have no clue how to ask him. You could never pull of one of those movie moments, where the characters all come together to yell, scream, cry and just start shouting about feelings and shit. That's just not who you are. Reflecting on that, you realize, that's not how your father made you.

*Flashback*

"Go! Run Toni!" your father's voice bellows through the pounding rain. You're trailing behind Sam and Dean who are already on their final lap. Your knees give way as you collapse into the muddy road. The rain pelts you, kicking you while you're down. You feel as if your lungs will burst. Your extremities are burning in pain and all you want is to go to sleep and never get up. You brothers circle back and begin to pull you up.

"No!" shouts your father. "She needs to finish her laps!"

Sam tugs at your arm whispering, "Come on Toni, get up!"

"I said leave her! She needs to be able to take care of herself! What would she do if she was alone in the woods and collapsed from exhaustion, hmm? Now go inside boys, I'll stay and make sure she finishes."

Your brothers glance warily at you, but nonetheless follow your father's orders and head into the cabin. You try to get up but you can't make your muscles corporate. Your twelve year old body struggles to complete the drill you know by heart. Your t-shirt and shorts are soaked with mud and sweat, your hair is matted and tangled, and your face is streaked with tears.

"Toni don't you cry." Dad yells again. "Tell me something, if you're in danger is crying going to help? What if a spirit was after you, or a demon? Do you think they are going to give a rat's ass if you break out the waterworks? Huh? Get up and finish the run!"

You heave yourself of the ground and will your legs to move. All you wanted to do this weekend was play Barbies with the neighbor girl. Why couldn't he just let you be a little girl for once?

*End Flashback*

* * *

><p><em>He's talking shit about how it's better way back when. He lives every waking moment as means to an end. We are we are but I'm not, I never used to be. So God bless your fucking past and to hell with your glory.<em>

* * *

><p>It's been almost two hours, and all you've managed to gather were a string of similar deaths a few towns over. Those were almost fifteen years ago unfortunately. You let out a bored sigh and leaving Sam's laptop on the bed you rummage through your bag looking for something to eat. As you expel its contents onto the floor, you're disappointed by the lack of options. There's a small handgun your father gave you on your 13th birthday, your favorite black gloves, a few changes of clothes, your denim jacket, two packs of mint gum, one pack of menthols (courtesy of Karen), a few knifes, an ordinary water bottle containing holy water, and of course your standard supply of explosives.<p>

It might seem uncomfortably close to pyromania, but it really isn't your fault. You never knew a normal life, and when one of your father's friends taught your how to make a homemade explosive when you were eight, it stuck with you. One could say you have a thing for fire, and the concept of blowing stuff up. From pipe bombs, C4s, and homemade blow-torches, you consider yourself an expert, at least within your circle.

You suppose some might try to draw parallels between the fact that your mother died in a fire and you seem to have developed somewhat of an obsession with flames. But that doesn't make a lick of sense to you. You don't have a single memory of your mother, 'sides from what you've been told. Dean remembers her, and Sam might too, but they don't talk about her at all. Her death was shrouded in mystery, and no one, including your father, ever knew the truth about that night. You have your suspicions; it involves Sam that much is for sure. But you also think your dad knows more than he is letting on.

You here the motel door open and you shout, "If you two are done with your heart to heart we should really get started on this case."

"Who's she?" a girl's voice asks.

You immediately lunge for a weapon of some kind and Sam yells,

"Toni its ok! She's with us. Listen, we know what we're dealing with here and we need your help."

"Of course you do", you reply smoothly, trying to cover up your surprise at the house guest. Turning to Sam you ask, "This the dead guy's chick?"

"We weren't dating!" the brunette protests. You barely acknowledge her as you continue your staring contest with your brother. "Why is she here?"

"Toni, this is Lori Sorenson. Lori, this is our sister Toni. She is going to look after you while we smoke this thing out."

Looking you over skeptically she asks, "She's supposed to protect me?"

Dean finally interjects, "She might not look like much, but she knows her stuff. You'll be safe here. Don't worry Lori, we'll have this sorted out in no time."

Lori didn't seem placated by Dean's words, but you aren't bothered by it. You're used to people underestimating you, it's part of your image. Wordlessly you hand Sam his laptop telling him about the information you've dug up on this thing you're facing. He thanks you one last time as he and Dean leave to burn the spirit's bones or something along those lines.

After about an hour of starring at the television the non-versation between you and Lori is getting old. You're just about to say something derogatory when the lights start to flicker.

"Well that's what you get for booking a room at The Pines, this place is awful" remarks Lori.

You're instantly on high alert as you reach over the side of the bed to pick up Dean's old shotgun. As you cock the barrel Lori stares horrified at you screaming, "What are you doing?"

Suddenly, the walls of the motel room are tearing themselves to shreds. There's a noise like the sound of nails on chalkboard. You push Lori to the ground and begin firing off rock salt bullets at the source of the noise. They have little effect as you can't see what you're aiming for. Lori's startling shriek causes you to whip around; coming face to face with what you can only assume is the supposed 'Hook Man' you researched.

Without lifting a finger, the creature has you collapsed on the ground. There's a searing pain across your back and it takes all the energy you have just to breathe. The Hook Man advances on Lori when the resounding crash of the front door being kicked in meets your ears. Dean and Sam move like a synchronized and extremely deadly weapon. Dean distracts the monster while Sam lunges for Lori. He grabs something from her and lights it on fire. There's a sound like a bomb going off and you are thrust out of consciousness.

* * *

><p>You wake up disorientated with a pounding headache. It takes a few moments to realize where you are. You groan and attempt to sit up but are immediately prevented by your back. It feels as if someone doused you in gasoline and lit you up. You are just about to say something when you hear Dean talking to Sam. Sitting in the front seat of the Impala, they must not have noticed you wake up.<p>

"I'm telling you man, we should just leave her with someone. This thing that dad's hunting is way too dangerous."

"Come off it Dean! She's our sister, we can't keep dumping her places and expecting her to wait patiently for us to come back. One of these days she won't be there when we do."

"Have you taken a look at her man? Those claw marks ripped through her skin like it was butter. She's been knocked out for two days! There's no way she's up for this."

"So she's out of shape! She'll get used to it. Did you really expect her to be training in high school? We finally let her have a normal life, she wasn't gonna waste it on Dad's crazy military drills.

"Yeah well maybe she was enjoying her 'normal' life too much."

Sam's voice was oddly pitched and he questioned sharply, "What do you mean?"

"Come on man," Dean admonished, "You can't tell me you don't recognize a stoner when you see one?"

Sam glanced back at you and you feign sleep. "You don't mean…"

"I mean our little sister's been getting higher than a kite."

Sam sighed resignedly, "Maybe we should leave her behind on this one."

You've had enough at this point; it's time for you to stand up for yourself. "No way!" you shout, "I am not being babysat while you guys do all the work. Haven't we had this discussion before? If I'm gonna follow you assholes all over creation then we do this shit together! I told you the minute you start any of that crap dad pulled I'm out."

"He listen princess," Dean reprimands harshly, "You're forgetting two important facts. First, I'm the oldest so I make the rules."

You scoff as he continues his rant, "Second; I've got about 7 inches and a good 50 pounds on you. Who do you think is going to win that fight huh?" When you don't respond he smirks and takes it as a sign of defeat. In reality you're just glad he didn't mention your habit that they picked up on.

Your hand slowly inches towards the car door handle. You're going 30 miles an hour and it's gonna hurt. Bracing yourself for the fall you shove the door open

and jump from the moving vehicle. You smack into the gravel road and roll part way down the dirt slope. You curse and surveying the damage you notice

your hands are cut pretty bad and your back is killing you. You tell yourself to shake it off as you start to run back into the barren woods that line the

Pennsylvania highway. It's a good thing you brought your bag with you, otherwise you wouldn't last long. Your brothers will be on your trail in no time.

Thinking fast, you hoist your duffel over your uninjured shoulder and begin to scale the nearest pine tree. That ought to keep them off your back for a while,

but you know it won't be long before they get creative, so you begin to concoct a backup plan of epic proportions.

* * *

><p><em>She packs her bags and says goodbye and bon voyage. Farewell we'll see you in hell I hope you rest in pieces. Too much too soon, too little and now you're coming unglued. Too much too soon, too late and now it sucks to be you.<em>

**Well this chapter was considerably longer so I hope your happy. I liked the lyrics for this chapter alot. Just a few announcments here:**

**-I completely forgot to put the most important part into the first chapter. It's only about a paragraph at the begining but if you haven't you should definitely go back and read that. My bad. **

**-Lastly, it's not that I don't like reviews (every author does). It's just a pet peeve of mine when people but 'OMG PLEEZ PLEEEEZ REVIEW MY STORY!' It's like, just because you add 100 exclamation points doesn't mean I am more likely to review. **

**So if you want to review, that's great. If not, it's whatever. **

**~Whatsername **

**PS (tell me where my name comes from and you'll get a shout out) **


	4. Live Fast, Die Young

I do not own Supernatural or Die Young by Black Sabbath

**IV**

**Live Fast, Die Young**

* * *

><p><em>Gather the wind though the wind won't help you fly at all. Your back's to the wall then, chain the sun<em>. _And then it turns around and face you as you run._

* * *

><p>You drudge your feet against the dusty gravel road. Your beat up converse that were once black now hold a grayish tinge. Your jeans are ripped and your t- shirt is stained with sweat and mud. As the pain in your back flares up again you begin to reconsider your plan to hitchhike across the backwoods of Pennsylvania. You decide your best bet is to hitch a ride to the nearest town with cell phone reception and somehow work out a plan from there. You don't have any particular interest in finding your father, and after you ditched your brothers you figure they will have moved on by now.<p>

You light up a smoke and inhale the familiar smell into your already polluted lungs. You've heard these things will kill ya', but at the rate you're going you'll probably be dead before your 25, 30 if you're lucky.

You're dog tired, and when you spy a rapidly approaching pick-up you stick your thumb out plainly. If you're already planning on an early funeral might as well speed the process along. The pick-up passes you by, and so do a few other slightly nicer looking cars before an old beat up Chevy finally slows to a stop near you. A tanned guy with dirty blond hair leans out the window and asks,

"You need a lift sister?" His voice has an odd drawl to it. Although by no means is it the redneck jargon you're used to, it's more laid back than any other northern accent you've heard before.

You flash your most charming smile and you're pretty sure it's causing you physical pain. "Yeah man."

He smiles back and leans over to open the door to the passenger seat. As he looks away your hand slides into your bag. Inconspicuously tucking your pistol into the waistband of your faded blue jeans you heave yourself and your duffel into the stranger's car and he drives off. You may be reckless, but you're not suicidal.

"You must have a death wish girl." the stranger drawls as he fiddles with the radio dial. This comment takes you by surprise and your hand shift to your gun.

"What do you mean?"

He shakes his head; a carefree smile plays on his lips that somehow gives you the impression he isn't dangerous. "Well for starters, hitch hiking's pretty risking business. 'Specially for a little girl like yourself. I mean you don't know my name, you don't know where I'm going, and you don't know nothing about me."

"First off", you start and you quickly pull out your gun, aiming it precisely at the stranger's head, "I am _not_ a little girl. I got all the protection I need right here."

The stranger tenses and his fingers flex as they grip the steering wheel.

"There's no need for that." He says in a low nervous voice.

"Tell me something dude, if you were some crazy psychopath killer, would you tell me your real name? Would you tell me where you're going? Would you tell me that you were a deranged murderer? Hmm? No. You wouldn't. So what good would me asking you any of those questions have done, except for you to produce some bullshit lies that wouldn't matter anyway if I ended up dead."

You drove in an uneasy silence for a while before the stranger's voice interrupted your thoughts.

"My name is Max."

"What?" you ask, startled by his sudden inclination to speak.

"Max Kelly. I'm from Texas and I'm headed to South Dakota. And I can promise you I'm not a serial killer."

You have to admit you're speechless. You weren't expecting him to share anything with you. Although it crosses your mind it may be a ploy to gain your trust,

you highly doubt it. You evaluate Max and decide he is reasonably attractive. He doesn't seem socially inept so you conclude he probably isn't desperate enough to pick up a girl off the side of the road just to get some.

"What's your name?" Max asks you calmly. Although his voice is steady you see him shoot furtive glances at the .45 that's still aimed at his head.

"Julia Anderson" you say without hesitation. "I'm actually just looking for a ride to the next town with some decent reception. Relax, I don't want to shoot

you, but I will if I have to."

There's a certainty in your voice that makes him believe you're not bluffing. Nonetheless, he shifts in his seat and settles on a radio station with an acceptable amount of static.

When you hear the jarring cords of Metallica blast through the stereo you cringe. You picture Dean jamming out to his 'mullet rock' collection and it stirs emotions inside you. You don't want to deal with those feelings now, or ever, so you order, "Change the station."

Max gives you a funny look and asks, "What's the problem, don't like Metallica?"

When you don't respond he stares at you out of the corner of his eye. After a while he fiddles with the dial again and some pop rock song by some nameless band assaults your ears. He looks at you for confirmation but you only shrug. The music of your generation has nothing on its ancestors, but you're too tired to care about that now.

* * *

><p><em>Behind a smile there's danger and a promise to be told. You'll never get old life's fantasy. To be locked away and still to think you're free<em>

* * *

><p>You've been driving for about half an hour and you can feel your eyes drooping. Desperately trying to keep yourself awake you ask Max how much longer it is to the next town. He guesses about fifteen minutes. You try valiantly to stay alert, but 24 hours of no sleep and little food combined with the burning on your back takes its toll on you. Before you know what's happening you're fast asleep.<p>

When you open your eyes confusion sets in almost immediately. The first thing you notice are your wrists handcuffed to the handle above the car door. Everything comes flooding back to you and panic grips your body as you realize what must have happened. You attempt to search the car for your pistol but you realize Max will probably have it with him. You're past panic at this point, and the extent of your situation seems to have sunk in.

You peer out the splotchy window and survey the derelict gas station in the middle of nowhere. Max is nowhere to be seen, and unfortunately for you, there doesn't seem to be a single soul within a mile radius. Trying to calm yourself down you recall what your father would tell you to do in a situation like this. Bracing yourself you aim your feet at the window opposite and endeavor to kick it out. After several shots you manage to crack the pane. Just as you raise your foot to finish the job the door to the driver's seat opens and Max cries out,

"What are you doing?"

You glare at him as you command, "Let me out right now!"

He shocks you by simply laughing at your request and sliding behind the wheel he turns the key in the ignition. He slowly put the car in gear and begins to head back onto the highway.

"I'll scream!" you warn him as the sick feeling in your stomach becomes more profound.

Again he chuckles lightly while asking, "Who's gonna here you?"

You disregard his words and shriek at decibels you didn't think were humanly possible. Max slams on the brakes and yells, "Alright, alright! Jesus, girl!

Where'd you learn to scream so loud?"

"Rock concerts", you mutter as he reaches into his pocket and extracts a key. As he moves into the backseat you're suddenly aware of the damage your actions may have caused. You aim a kick at his head and he curses grabbing your foot. You tense up and begin to struggle all the while screaming your lungs out. Max releases your leg and retreats into the front seat.

"What in the hell Julia? I wasn't gonna hurt you!"

"Says the guy who's got me handcuffed in the backseat!"

"Look," Max implores as he holds up the key. He slowly moves towards you and with one swift motion unlocks the handcuff from the handle. Tossing you the key, he restarts the car and speeds up entering the highway.

Finally free, you massage your wrists and reach for the latch to unlock the door.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Max says stopping you in your tracks.

"Why not?" you ask incredulously, "You kidnapped me!"

"What are you talkin' about?" he yells, "You held me at gunpoint!"

"You handcuffed me to your car!"

"That was for your own safety as well as mine. I'd be grateful if I were you sister. You're in some serious trouble here."

"What are you talking about?"

Max turns to shoot you a disbelieving look before saying, "Where do I start? You were in possession of an unregistered firearm. How old are you again? Not old enough for a permit I'm guessing. Also you were traveling with some pretty illegal explosives. Not to mention the cigarettes."

"You went through my stuff?" You accuse.

"Of course I did. Now, you can ignore the fact that I could just drop you off at the nearest police station and be on my way. Truthfully, those things ain't why

you're still sitting in my car Julia."

"Please enlighten me" you request, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You're still here cause I'm worried about you. I don't know why and I probably shouldn't even be doing this. Lord knows I got enough of my own problems.

But it wouldn't sit right with my conscience letting the world's most idiotic girl out on her own. You hitchhiked a ride in some stranger's car, and proceeded to

fall asleep. Do you know what would have happened to you if you'd of gotten into someone else's car?"

You don't want to admit it, but you know he's right. Nonetheless, you hate being chastised, even if you deserve it. Instead of owning your mistakes you

change the subject. "How long was I out for?"

Max's voice is deadly serious as he responds, "Almost 24 hours."

You can't hide your surprise when he says this. You're back must be the source of your exhaustion because the last time you slept this much was 9th grade Math class.

Suddenly your stomach growls loudly and Max asks, "You hungry?"

You nod your head deciding he's proven himself to be trustworthy. He smiles at you through the rear view mirror and says, "There's a McDonalds in five

miles, we'll stop there."

* * *

><p><em>So live for today, tomorrow never comes. Die young, die young can't you see the writing in the air? Die young, gonna die young, someone stopped the fair. <em>

* * *

><p>As the car pulls away from the drive-in window you ask, "So what's the plan Max?"<p>

"What do you mean?"

"Well," you begin, stuffing some French fries into your mouth, "Where're we going?"

He takes a careful look at you. You've migrated to the passenger seat and continue to devour the fast food with uncurbed enthusiasm.

"Where're your parents Julia?"

"Dead" you respond emotionlessly.

"You ain't got no family then?"

"No I have _family_", you state sourly, "We just don't get along very well."

Max sighs heavily and you leave him to make his own assumption about your cryptic statement.

"Well like I said earlier I'm headed up to South Dakota. I'm going to see a friend. Do you know anyone up there?" he questions.

Bobby Singer's the only one that comes to your mind. He will undoubtedly tell your brothers if you show up there, possibly even your father. But then again, you really don't have much of a plan anyway, so you just shrug and say, "Yeah, I know someone."

* * *

><p>You've been on the road with Max for a few days now, and the two of you have gotten on surprisingly well. You find out that he's 23, grew up in a small town in West Texas, knows how to ride horses, and recently dropped out of community college.<p>

Ever since you stepped foot in that damn chevy, you've been surprising yourself in more ways than one. This time isn't like Henderson, not even close. In Henderson you were imprisoned, now you're free. Free to go anywhere, do anything, be anybody.

But that isn't really the case and you know it. No matter how fast or how far you run, you'll never be able to escape your old life. Toni Winchester will always be there, like a scar or stain on your soul. This is evidenced by the astonishing amount of nostalgia you are feeling. You weren't expecting to miss your brothers this much. It's painful and frightening and you're scared of where it might lead. You see them everywhere you look and hear them with every song on the radio.

* * *

><p><span>*Flashback*<span>

AC/DC's blaring through the speakers of the '67 Impala as it screeches to a stop in front of the grammar school. A young man in an worn leather jacket slams the door and slouches arrogantly against the hood of his 'baby'. He stares unabashedly through tinted aviators at the crowd of middle school kids pilling out of the school. His presence oozes confidence and aloofness. At least that's how he appears to everyone watching him. Everyone except you. All you see is an annoying parental figure who scares all your friends away and won't let you watch Barbie and the Nutcracker.

He spots your blond curls through the crowd and whistles obnoxiously. When you ignore him in favor of continuing your conversation with your friend he

shouts, "Toni! We gotta go!"

The red headed girl you've been talking to stares warily at him. "Is that your brother?"

Your nine year old self vehemently wishes that wasn't the case, but you settle for the classic, "We're adopted."

You try to hang onto this new friend because: they're few and far between for you, and she owns all the Barbie movies on VHS. So when you continue to ignore your brother he gets impatient. Moving through the dwindling crowd he doesn't stop until he reaches you. Towering over the two third graders he orders, "Toni get your butt in the car now!"

Not wanting to be demeaned in front of your friend you stick your tongue out, causing your classmate to giggle.

He'd clearly had enough of your childish games. In one fluid motion, he scoops you up and putting you over his shoulder, carries you to the car. As you scream at him he deftly slings you into the backseat and slides into the drivers seat, ripping away from the curb. You bite your lip and sulk against the leather seats. The car speeds towards the motel you're currently residing in and you know what's waiting for you there. And it's that knowledge that finally brings tears to your eyes.

* * *

><p><em>So live for today, tomorrow never comes. Die young, die young. Die young, die young.<em>

**So there it is, another chapter! Is Toni getting annoying yet? I know it's a stretch having that much stupid wrapped up in one selfish girl, but hey, nothing exciting would ever happen if she was normal.**

**Sorry about the lack of Sam and Dean in this chapter. They might not appear physically again for a few more, but I'm trying to compensate with flashbacks. **

**Let me know what you think about the story, Toni, Max, or my crappy plot...**

**~Whatsername **


	5. Damn Regret

I do not own Supernatural or Damn Regret by the Red Jumpsuit Apparatus

**V**

**Damn Regret**

* * *

><p><span>*Flashback*<span>

"What about Rachel?" you whine as you follow your father around the store.

"For the last time Toni, you are not changing your name! Hold this" he says and passes you a fire extinguisher. You struggle under its weight but continue your barrage nonetheless.

"Daddy it's not fair! I hate my name its stupid!" You're six year old self throws down the fire extinguisher and your bottom lip begins to quiver.

John Winchester sighs and sets the merchandise down on the linoleum floor. Putting a hand on your shoulder he says quietly, "That name was the last thing your mother gave you before she died. It's the only part of her you'll always have. Antoinette, you are never changing your name understand me?"

Your petulant stare does nothing to alter John's mind. As he picks up his things and resumes shopping you whine, "But Toni's a boy's name! I'm not a boy!"

"Believe me, I know", your father mutters under his breath, and the two of you continue your search for supplies.

You'll ask those questions many more times over the course of your nonexistent childhood. But the answer will always be the same. "Your name is the last gift your mother gave you. Why would you want to ignore her wishes?"

Sometimes you wish you knew more about her. You've seen pictures, but all they tell you is she was pretty. Much prettier then you'll ever be. You used to

think you looked like her, same light blond hair, same heart shaped face. Not anymore though. You're hair has been bleached beyond repair; the healthy tan

your skin once held has been replaced by a sallow and sickly looking pallor. But your eyes…well they're your dad's shade of green and as far as you can tell

hold the same fiery determination they always have. Too bad there's not a way to change those…not yet anyway.

* * *

><p><em>We're high above the ground. We're nowhere to be found. Empowered by adrenaline. Feel I've been born again.<em>

* * *

><p>Max and you are fairly close to your destination when you decide to grab a motel room. You're about a day's drive away from South Dakota and Max has been running on power naps and caffeine. At first you were a little wary of the suggestion, but you figure with separate rooms there's really nothing to worry about.<p>

Max, as it turns out is much cooler than you originally thought. He appreciates your taste in music, though to your horror he prefers country. He talks a lot while you drive through the bleak Midwestern states. Maybe he's just trying to make conversation, or maybe he just needed to talk to someone. He shocked you with his honesty, and you wonder if it's too soon to consider him a friend.

You feel guilty because for every bit of himself that he has shared with you, you've given him nothing but lies in return. It's probably better that way. Once you get to South Dakota you two will part ways and never speak again. It'll be better for him if he never meets Toni Winchester.

* * *

><p><em>Damn regret, I'll try to forget. Don't worry about me 'cause I'm refined. Cast my line to see what's behind. Did you think you'd persuade me to let you go?<em>

* * *

><p>"Here you go Julia", Max says pointing to the room with the number 27 emblazoned on the wooden door.<p>

You give him a small smile and drag your duffel after you. He murmurs goodnight and you shut the door softly. You examine the mattress for bed bugs before flinging your body onto the starched sheets. It seems like so long since you've slept in a bed. In reality it's only been about a week.

Just as you're about to turn off the lights and get some well-deserved sleep, your back flares in pain and you let a small scream escape your lips. You roll off the bed and gently peel off your filthy t-shirt. Rushing to the bathroom, you let out a string of curses that would make Dean flinch. You can hardly believe what you're seeing as you gingerly touch the burning scars that decorate your back from ribs to shoulder.

The three long slices are inflamed and cakes with dried blood. You don't know how that could have escaped your notice. Sure on your first day on your own you had to remove the old bandages because they were soaked with blood and starting to smell. But these should have been healed by now. It must have something to do with the spirit, maybe a curse or something you tell yourself.

You try not to be upset at the thought of how disfigured your back, but seeing the scars reflected in the cracked motel mirror, you doubt they will ever heal. Suddenly, pain courses through your wounds and your body begins convulsing. As you crash onto the floor someone knocks at your door.

"Julia? Julia you in there?" Max's voice asks, muffled by the walls.

All you can manage are short desperate gasps as your lungs strive to obtain oxygen. You barely have time to register the door opening before you succumb to nothingness.

* * *

><p><em>I'm wishing you were here. My weakness is my fear. Alone I am myself, no reason left for me to care. Distracted by the sound. I hear footsteps all around. Empowered by adrenaline. Feel I've been born again.<em>

* * *

><p>You're beginning to realize you hate waking up as the familiar disorientated feeling creeps over you. This time however, you know exactly where you are and what you're doing. As you blink your eyes and attempt to sit up you realize there's some type of material restraining you. Upon further inspection you find your torso as well as shoulders heavily bandaged. Propping yourself up onto your elbows, you notice Max asleep in the chair across from the motel bed. Part of you is amused that he's still there, the other is curious as to how he got into your room.<p>

As you swing your legs over the side of the bed in search for a glass of water, you jostle the nightstand and Max bolts up in surprise.

"Christ Julia, what are you doing?"

You shoot him a disbelieving look, "What does it look like genius? I'm getting a glass of water." Max gets up from his seat and swiftly guides you back towards the bed. You want to protest, but your back is aching and you're beginning to feel lightheaded. You groan as you sink back into the scratchy polyester pillows.

"What happened?"

"You don't remember? We got here around midnight and you went into your room. I was getting a pop from the machine when all of the sudden there was a

scream from your room. I started walking towards it, and when I got there I put my ear against the door and heard some crashing noises. That's when I

opened the door and saw you on the floor"

Max was ashen faced and his eyes were filled with emotions. He looked like he was having trouble articulating what he saw, but he managed to say,

"When I saw you there, I didn't know what to think. You were twitching on the ground; I thought you were seizuring or something. But when I tried to pick you up and snap you outta it I saw…"

His voice trailed off and you realized he was referring to the marks on your back. Well, you tell yourself resignedly, this is a conversation you better get used to having. You would try to come up with an excuse, but all your energy is focused on trying to forget that he must of seen you topless. But before you can say anything he asks in a soft and possibly even concerned voice, "Is that…are those…that's why you ran away isn't it? Did…did someone do that to you? Did your family?"

Although you supposed he might make those assumptions, you can't help but feel defensive. Sure you and your family have ups and downs, but none of them would ever try and beat you. While you sit there trying to come up with a lie to tell Max, he starts to talk again.

"Cause you know, if they did, I could take you to the police or something, if you wanted. You don't gotta run from them. I could help you."

Even though Max doesn't know it, he's breaking your heart. His kindness is chipping away at the wall surrounding your emotions and things are leaking inside of you; things you've tried so hard to bury. You rub your eyes irritably and stare at the sheets. A part of you wants to tell him everything about yourself, your successes and fails, triumphs and tribulations, but it's only a small part. The rest of you squashes the small sliver of feelings and takes over. It tells you to keep the lie going, you barely know him, and in one day you'll never see him again.

So you spend the rest of your time with Max evading questions and giving vague answers. No matter how much you try and distance yourself, a piece of you dies every time he calls you Julia.

* * *

><p><em>You're the only one I turn to. When I feel like no one's there, and when I'm lonely in my darkest hour. You give me the power to sit and pretend.<em>

* * *

><p>When you enter Sioux Falls Max asks you where to drop you off. It's only then you realize that you don't know Bobby's address. You doubt he'll be listed in the phone book and you don't know how you could call him with Max sitting right next to you. Plus, it's probably not the best idea that Max knows where you'll be anyway. You pick a random house down some side street and say a quick goodbye to the man who saved your life on multiple occasions over the past week. He looks like he wants to say something, but you stand on the porch and wave him off. Slowly the beat up chevy pulls away from the curb leaving you with a heart wrenching feeling of regret.<p>

Taking a deep breath you stretch out the stiffness in your back and dial Bobby's number on your cell phone. He's surprised, and pretty pissed, that you're in Sioux Falls (your brother's must've gotten the word out) but he gave you his address nonetheless. You walk until you hit what looks like this town's version of Main Street. The only shops lining the road are bars, diners, a pawn shop, and a tattoo parlor. "Looks like Bobby's part of town", you think to yourself.

You enter one of the diners and wrangle a phonebook out of the waiter. You tear off a few pages from the back that appear to be some sort of map. Needless to say it takes you about another hour to find Bobby's place. You're disappointed to see your sense of direction hasn't improved much. As you enter the scrap yard that acts as some kind of border for the old hunter's house, you're hit by the bitter memories of the last time you were here.

* * *

><p><span>*Flashback*<span>

You feel very small standing next to your father. He just came back from a long trip, and now he's gonna go on another one. Only this time, he wants to take you guys with him. You look up at Sammy inquisitively, eyebrows hidden behind tufts of blond hair. Sammy smiles down at you and holds your hand. He knows you don't like it when dad yells. It's worse this time 'cause he's yelling at Uncle Bobby.

Dean, Sammy and you have been at Bobby's house for several weeks sporadically this summer. You don't mind it here; there are always fun things to explore. Dean and Sam are more willing to play with you than they are when dad's around. Plus, Uncle Bobby has the best ice cream. When you're four years old, that's really all that matters.

Dean's sulking in the corner; you know he wants to go with dad. Sammy's still holding your hand; you're not quite sure whether he wants to stay or not. You want to continue the routine you've got going here, but you'd never want to leave your brothers. Ever.

"Would ya' just listen Bobby? I've got a place! It's up in New Hampshire. The kids will be fine, they'll love it! Tons of snow!"

"And just how long do you plan on sittin' round there for John? A month, maybe two? This ain't like before. You can't keep leavin' 'em here and dropping by every few weeks! Christ they're your children John!"

"I know they're mine Bobby, that's why I'm taking them with me", your dad yells. Then he turns to you ordering, "Get in the car Toni, we're leavin'. You too Sam, Dean."

Your brothers trudge stoically towards the door when you burst into tears. Latching your arms around Bobby's leg you scream. "I don't wanna leave! I wanna stay wif Uncle Bobby!"

Bobby doesn't say anything as John whips around and untangles you from the grizzly hunter. "He's not your uncle Toni. Now get in the car!"

As the screen door closes behind you Bobby shouts, "Idjit!"

You and Sam sit rigidly in the backseat of the Impala while Dean slouches in the front. You can all hear the shouting match between your father and the man who took care of you for most of the summer going on inside. If you'd of known how long it would be until you saw Bobby again, you probably would've said a proper goodbye.

*End Flashback*

* * *

><p>You're tired, cold, and hungry when you climb the rickety steps of the back porch. Bobby's expecting you so you bang on the door a few times and let yourself in.<p>

As you take in the familiar wall paper and the smell of stale beer you make your way towards the kitchen. You toss your duffel on table and grab a beer from the fridge. You doubt Bobby will mind. Hearing voices from the living room you head over to investigate. Not wanting to give the old man a heart attack you shout, "Bobby its Toni! Where are you?"

"In hear", comes the gruff monotone that you know so well. Leaning against the faded wall paper you smile at Bobby and say. "Long time"

He turns around and the corners of his mouth twitch slightly before he starts yelling, "What were you thinking! Of all the gosh darn stupid things to do, this really takes the cake."

You keep smiling however as he moves to give you a hug. Before he reaches you something behind him catches your eye. Your beer bottles smashes to the ground as you stare in shock at the person standing in Bobby's living room.

* * *

><p><em>Damn regret, I'll try to forget. Don't worry about me 'cause I'm refined. Cast my line to see what's behind. Did you think you'd persuade me to let you go?<em>

**So there it is, chapter 5. Let me know what you think, comments, criticism, whatever...**_  
><em>

**I have a poll and a few pics on my profile. Take a look if you want. Dean and Sam will be making an appearance soon, so don't worry. Until next time...**

**_~Whatsername_**


	6. Scars

I don't own Supernatural or "Scars" by Papa Roach. If I did I definitely would have enjoyed all those Harry Potter references. _  
><em>

**VI  
><strong>

**Scars**

* * *

><p><em>I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut. My weakness is that I care too much, and my scars remind me that the past is real. I tear my heart open just to feel<em>

* * *

><p>You keep smiling however as he moves to give you a hug. Before he reaches you something behind him catches your eye. Your beer bottles smashes to the ground as you stare in shock at the person standing in Bobby's living room.<p>

"Max?" you ask completely shocked at this new development.

He looks just as confused as you feel. Glancing at Bobby for reassurance you ask, "What's he doing here?"

Bobby senses he's missing something as he asks, "You two know each other?"

Max looks somewhat guiltily as he keeps his eyes trained to the floor. You stare unabashedly at him as he avoids your gaze.

"Bobby, this is Max Kelly", you explain.

"I know who he is Toni; I'm askin' how you know."

"Max gave me a ride here."

Bobby looks to Max for confirmation and when he nods Bobby asks again, "Where did you meet him?"

You shift uncomfortably under Bobby's gaze and mumble some bullshit story about meeting him at a library.

Bobby doesn't believe you for a second, but he keeps quiet anyway. Fortunately, the phone chooses that moment to ring and Bobby goes into the next room to answer it.

You shift awkwardly under Max's gaze as you ask, "So, how do you know Bobby?"

"Well, _Toni_, if that's your real name, I don't know him at all. A friend gave me his number and I tracked him down. He's supposed to know something about my dad. If you don't mind my asking, how do you know him?"

"He's an old family friend." You're not sure how much he knows of Bobby's work, but you don't want to be the one to open that can of worms. "Look, I'm sorry about the name. It's just…"

"Nah, it's ok. I should've expected it the first day when you were saying I might be a serial killer." You flash a small smile and he asks, "So what's your real name?"

"Toni Winchester. Is Max Kelly your real name?"

He laughs and sighs, "Yeah it is." Turning around he grabs his beer and takes a long drink. You sit down on Bobby's couch and wince as your back begins to burn.

"How are you holding up?" Max asks seeing your discomfort. "Do you want me to get Bobby?"

You shake your head in refusal, but seeing you wince in pain he quickly exits the room only to return minutes later with Bobby and a first aid kit.

"Alright, what seems to be the problem?" Bobby asks in a brusque tone. You lie face down on the worn out couch and pull up your shirt. You hear Bobby's sharp intake of breath at the sight of your scars.

"Dammit girl, why didn't you get these stitched up? Geez, did you know about these Max?" He nods his head in reply and avoids Bobby's glares. "Well you're both idjits. Now I'm going to have to sew these up, you ok with that Toni?"

You grunt in response and he asks, "You know these are gonna leave some pretty nasty scars right?"

"Yeah I know", you mutter dejectedly.

"How'd you get them anyways?"

You glance at Max whose standing of to the side, still keeping his distance. Bobby notices your stares and responds, "Don't worry, he knows."

Now it's your turn to look surprised. As you glance from Bobby to Max you speak slowly and deliberately, "He knows what exactly?"

"About the supernatural crapfest that dictates our lives. Now spit it out kid."

You're utterly confused as to why Max knows about any of this, but seeing Bobby's impatient glances you say, "It was this hookman. He was some dead murderer's ghost and he was killing all these people who this girl argued with. Dean and Sam went to burn his bones and left me to watch her. The spirit showed up at the motel and slashed me up. It was about to kill me and the girl when they showed up and sent its sorry ass packing. I still don't know how actually."

"So a ghost did that to you?" Max asked his voice rising sharply.

You stare at your fingernails disinterestedly and nod your head. Max just glares in a way that makes you uneasy and says, "And Sam and Dean are, who? Your Brothers? Is your father alive too? Here I was thinking I knew something about you. Poor little girl huh? I bet you've never known a day of trouble in your life. Do you mind givin me the real reason you were hitchhiking?"

Bobby just stares expectantly at you while you turn defensively at Max, "Who do you think you are man? I barely know you, you don't know me! You don't have the right to know anything. And I'd like it if you'd stop assuming things about me!"

Max glares at you and storms off, slamming the back door behind him. Your mouth contorts into a sullen expression, but Bobby doesn't appear affected by this turn of events. Instead he picks up the phone and begins to dial.

"Who are you calling?" you ask suspiciously.

"Your father," Bobby replies matter-of-factly.

You snort in response and prop your feet on the littered coffee table remarking snidely, "Good luck with that. We've been trying to track him down for weeks. Sam and Dean have been looking for months. No bodies' seen him."

"I'm sure he'll turn up sooner or later. Don't let it bother you."

"Don't worry I won't" you say with a laugh.

"Toni, I've known you and your brothers for a long time. Why did you run away from them?"

You chip away at the fraying rubber soles of your sneakers. You're not a tattle tale and you don't like the feeling of ratting out your brothers. But at the same time, you don't want Bobby thinking you're a self-absorbed brat who causes unnecessary problems, as you're sure Dean has already informed him.

"Because Bobby," you mutter, "They were gonna ship me off again. I hated living in Henderson by myself almost as much as I hated life on the road. They were gonna do exactly what Dad did and just shove me in some corner until they're done playing heroes. I figured I might as well leave before they kick me out."

"Well," Bobby began as he punched in the digits of Dean's cell phone, "I dunno what's goin' on with you kids, but I do know those boys are worried sick about you. I'm gonna tell them you're safe and you three can work things out from there."

You groan and shuffle out of the room not wanting to here that conversation; not before you here Bobby's brusque tones lecturing whoever answered the phone about taking care of their little sister. Although your features remain stoic, you're smiling on the inside. It's nice to know someone's sticking up for you once in a while, even though you don't need it.

As you open the door to the guest room you once shared with your brothers you're surprised to find everything almost exactly the same. There's a thick

layer of dust coating the furniture and it appears as though no one's set foot in there for some time. You breathe in the familiar smells and, tossing your bag

on the floor, walk towards the windowsill and silently climb out onto the slanted roof. You remember laying face up, staring out at the seemingly endless

array of stars, planning your escape from this life. You had big plans, big dreams. It's very bittersweet now, sitting on that same roof only a few years later,

knowing your dreams will never come true. Sure you're only seventeen, but you feel as though your life has past you by. It's like you're standing in the

middle of Grand Central Station, all the trains, planes, cars and people are rushing to reach their destination, and you're standing in the midst of it all,

completely frozen. Wanting so badly to move, but unable to do so.

"Hey," a soft voice ruptures you're thought bubble and you glance downward to lock eyes with its source. Leaning against Bobby's back porch rails, Max is staring up at you, a nondescript expression on his face.

"What are you doin' up there," he asks.

"I used to come here to think," you say before laughing, "God I'm such a cliché. Pass me a cigarette will ya?"

Max displays his empty palms and explains, "Don't smoke."

"You one of those health nuts?" you ask warily. He laughs a deep and comfortable sound, "Naw, nothing like that. Suppose I never took to it. I was always more of a whiskey guy."

You nod understandingly, and Max hops up on the railing and climbs onto the roof to sit beside you. You sit in silence for a while until you say, "Listen Max, I'm not very good at apologizes. I don't go handing them out all the time."

Keeping a straight face he asks, "Should I be taping this or somethin'?"

You roll your eyes and he protests, "I'm serious. Do I get it in writin'?"

"Shut-up and listen asshole!" taking a deep breath you relent, "I'm sorry I lied to you. If you want to know the truth I'll tell you. You probably saved my life more than once this past week, so the least I can do is give you the truth."

He stares at you for a long time. You can't tell if he's waiting for you to speak or not. His eyes are fixed on an unseen point in the distance. You think his eyes

are alluring, but because it's dark outside you can't tell what color they are. You try to remember from all those days in that busted car of his. Gray? Blue?

Not brown, that's for sure. Max interrupts your thoughts again. You're constantly surprised by his melodious voice; it doesn't seem to belong to this 6 foot 2

muscular cow-boy type. Yet at the same time, anything else would be horribly wrong.

"Just to keep things fair, how's about I ask you a question, you answer honestly, then I'll answer your question. Deal?"

You shrug in agreement and say, "You first."

"Tell me about your parents."

"That's not a question," you remind him. But you answer anyway. You've never really talked about your life before. With your brothers there was nothing to

say, they lived it with you. Any friends you'd ever made had never stuck around long enough to get to 'meet the family'. Speaking cautiously you begin,

"My mom's dead. She died when I was a baby. Only a few days after I was born actually. Probably trying to get as far from me as possible before I learned how to talk. As far as I know my dad's still alive." You didn't mean that last sentence to sound as bitter as it did, but there's no taking it back now.

"What do you mean as far as you know?" Max probed.

"Well I haven't seen him in almost two years. But my brother's saw him about 3 or 4 months ago."

When Max looked aghast you add, "You know what Bobby does right?" When he nods you continue, "Well my dad does that too. He hunts supernatural phenomenon, so do my brothers, so did I. Before he disappeared he was looking for a demon. I was with my brothers trying to track him down when I ran away."

"Why did you run away?"

"No way dude, my turn to ask the questions." He smiles teasingly and you get right down to it. "How do you know about all this supernatural crap?"

As soon as the words leave your lips his face darkens. His mouth is set in a tight line but he quickly masks his feeling and says, "My dad was killed last year. Cops said it was a murder suicide, but it wasn't. He woulda never done something like that. After making a few calls I found a guy who said he'd help. He looked at the evidence and left immediately. Claimed there was nothing more he could do. He left me with Bobby's telephone number though, said he'd be able to help me out some."

"So what'd you find?"

He grins slightly and argues, "Mine first. Why'd you run away from your brothers?"

You sigh and lean back to rest on your elbows, taking in the inky night sky.

"My brothers, Dean and Sam…we're very different. Dean is 25 and Sam is 21. They're into the whole 'hunting' thing. Let's just say I'm not. I called them to get me out of a foster home and we left to go find dad. Ya know it took them a week to come get me? Anyway, the point is there was a lot of tension. They said some things and I said some things, and then I left. It's not really a big deal. I'm sure they'll find the old man shooting up spirits somewhere and the three of them can ride off into the sunset or whatever the fuck their little heart's desire."

You inhale the clean Dakota air, really wishing you had a drag. You aren't lying to Max, just omitting some otherwise relevant details. He doesn't need to know your brothers found your stash and were for some reason, worried about you. Then there were the little things like the constant fights, squabbles over TV, and your taste in music which seemed to have permanently offended Dean.

"So tell me already, what'd ya find out?" you pester the young man sitting next to you. You gaze at him for a while. He's definitely good looking, hot even. But you're not one to gush over a boy. You scoot closer to him and wait expectantly for him to speak. When he does his voice is quiet and melancholy.

"Bobby says my dad was most likely possessed. Possessed by some kind of demon. He thinks he made my dad kill that woman and himself because he ran a big iron mine. I dunno about this, but apparently these demons are warded off with iron? I guess they wanted to diminish the supply? Can you believe that?"

"Yeah actually, I can," you whisper half to yourself.

"How can these things actually exist?" Max asks desperately to no one in particular. You sympathize with him, realizing what he must be feeling now.

"The way I think of it is this. How can they not be real? Humans don't have a good enough imagination to invent these insane things out of nowhere. Sure there are tons of bullshit fairy tales out there, but they all came from the real things. All they are is advancements on old ideas."

You sit in silence for a while, contemplating what you're going to do in the morning. You'll need to leave; Bobby's already alerted your brothers to your

presence. Just as your devising an escape plan, a rough calloused hand grabs your shoulder. You turn to look at Max; his face is only inches away from

yours. His breath smells of stale booze and he hasn't shaven in a while. When he speaks, his soothing voice sends chills down your spine.

"I want to thank your Toni. If I hadn't picked you up that day I probably wouldn't have made it here. I guess I just needed someone to talk to. And I thank you for that"

You lean in close to his face and whisper, "Don't thank me yet." Your lips hover several inches away before they crash into his. As you start eating each

other's faces, Max pulls you through the window and you tumble onto the archaic bed that you shared with Sam a lifetime ago. It gives you a sick sense of

pleasure to know what'll be happening on that very bed tonight.

* * *

><p><em>I tried to help you once, against my own advice. I saw you going down, but you never realized that you're drowning in the water, so I offered you my hand. Compassions in my nature. Tonight is our last stand.<em>

* * *

><p>Your head is pounding in a way that makes you think of Henderson High and all the mornings you and Greg Sorenson would skip the first three periods<p>

'cause you were too damn hung over. You squint and look around for the source of your interrupted sleep. There's a banging on the door and an extremely

angry voice yelling, "Toni, get up I know you're in there!"

You bolt upright and mumble, "Oh shit," as your put a name to the impatient shouts. The body stirring next to you makes the situation even more shit-worthy. You jump off the bed and throw a pair of jeans at Max. He stutters for a bit before opening his eyes, "Toni what the…"

"Get dressed!" you whisper, interrupting him. Dean bangs on the door again and you yell, "Give me a minute!" As you nearly fall over pulling some shorts on Dean retorts, "I was there when you were born Tone, ain't nothing I haven't seen."

To your horror he opens the door and both you and he freeze as the reality of the situation sinks in. "What the hell!" Dean bellows. You're still searching for a shirt to put on and, Max's half naked body doesn't help anyone much.

Deciding taking the offensive is the best choice right now you scream, "What the hell yourself Dean! I told you to give me a minute. Now get out!"

As Dean remains frozen in the doorway another voice floats through the hallway asking, "What's going on Dean? Is she here?"

When the hulky figure of your other brother materializes behind Dean and makes eye contact with you, that feeling of self-loathing and disgust creeps in on

you. You really don't know what to say and all Sam can do is stutter, "Oh God," and shut the door. The internal wrestling match that's taking place inside you

momentarily paralyzes you. You're brought back to reality by Max's voice, "I'm guessing those are your brothers?"

* * *

><p><em>I can't help you fix yourself. <em>_But at least I can say I tried. __I'm sorry but I gotta move on with my own life. I can't help you fix yourself. But at least I can say I tried. I'm sorry but I gotta move on with my own life. _

**First I'd like to apologize for this chapter. It's a week late and of questionable quality. But Sam and Dean are back, so enjoy it. Tell me what you think of it. Love it or hate it, at least I made you feel something. Review...or not. Catch ya on the flip side.**

_**~Whatsername **_


	7. Seven Nation Army

I do not own Supernatural (if I did I wouldn't have made such an anti-climactic finale) or Seven Nation Army by the White Stripes.

**VII**

**Seven Nation Army **

* * *

><p><em>I'm gonna fight 'em all. A nation army couldn't hold me back. They're gonna rip it off, taking their time right behind my back.<em>

You really don't know what to say, and all Sam can do is stutter, "Oh God," and shut the door. The internal wrestling match that's taking place inside you momentarily paralyzes you. You're brought back to reality by Max's voice, "I'm guessing those are your brothers?"

You sigh and affirm his question. Hastily pulling a dirty t-shirt over your head you command, "You should probably leave. This isn't gonna be pretty."

Max grins at you and lies back down on Bobby's guest bed. You roll your eyes and shut the door. Sam and Dean are downstairs and you make your way towards them. Before you can say a word Dean's on you like moths to a flame.

"Who the hell is that?"

"Who?" you ask innocently.

"Goddamn it Toni you know what I'm talking about!"

"Where have you been?" Sam interrupts Dean, not acknowledging his tirade

"Around," you reply vaguely, barely disguising the fact that you're completely enjoying this.

"This isn't funny Toni! We were worried about you! What were you thinking jumping out of the car like that? Are you fucking insane?" Sam yells.

"It was pretty dope man," you laugh, pushing your brothers' buttons even further.

Dean just stares at you, a bemused expression on his face. "What is wrong with you Tone? This isn't like you."

"How would you know what I'm like? You haven't seen me for two years!"

"It was 19 months! How long are you gonna hold that over our heads? For Christsake, you're the one that wanted to go! You're the one that said you wanted a normal life. We thought we were helping you!"

"By leaving me alone with a cracked old lady? I was fifteen! You expect me to make the right decisions?"

Dean sighs and rubs his face with his calloused hands. You know you're being unfair, but you want to make them suffer for all the pain you're feeling. This is the only satisfaction you'll ever get, might as well enjoy it.

"Look," Sam persuades, ever the mediator in these situations, "We can't change the past. Toni I'm sorry I never stood up for you, I really am. If you want to stay here with Bobby we understand. But whoever that was up there has got to go."

You stare disbelieving at your brothers, "Jesus, do you ever listen! It's like I'm talking to myself! I don't want to be set down somewhere and told to sit tight and be a good girl! I want to be with you fucking assholes!"

Sam looks slightly perturbed, "But I thought-"

"Do I have to spell it out morons? I fucking missed you!"

Your brothers don't really have a response for that, they just stare at you, speechless for the first time in their lives. You're tired of this fight. In your head you pictured it differently. You'd end up feeling vindicated and satisfied. Instead you're drained and empty.

As you turn to ascend the worn out stairs to the guest room Dean seems to have remembered there was a guy in your bed and loudly makes his opinion known.

"Not so fast jailbait," Dean barks rudely. He grabs your arm and pulls you down the stairs, and out the back door. As he and Sam tower over you they fix you with their best intimidating expressions.

"Please tell me we walked in on a huge misunderstanding earlier." Sam asks, sounding like he's trying to convince himself more than you.

"Yeah right, keep dreaming Sammy." Dean answers for you. "Why would you think its ok for you to have sex?"

Truthfully, you don't think it should come as a surprise to your brothers. They sent you to a public high school with only an old lady who could barely remember her own name to watch over you. Did they think you'd be a virgin forever?

Deciding to voice your opinion you ask, "Did you expect me to be a virgin forever?"

"Yes!" Dean yells. Sam's face is contorted in an unpleasant grimace as Dean continues, "Who is this guy anyway?"

"Max," you reply defiantly. You hope he's taken your hint and jumped out the window or something.

"Oh, _Max_," Dean spits as if simply saying his name brings a vile taste to his mouth. "How old is he Toni?"

"23," you say boldly. If you're crashing you might as well go down in flames.

Sam groans and you look him in the eyes for the first time since he caught you half-naked with some guy about 10 minutes ago. You hate the disappointed look he gives you. The self-deprecating voices in your head scream at you for being such a slut. You're used to that disappointing look from your Dad, Dean, teachers, counselors, cops, and occasionally friends. But never from Sam. Never from him.

"He's older than me?" Sam yells in a half question, half scolding sort of way.

You feel the familiar cold grip you in a way that 100 blankets couldn't fix. Your stomach is in your throat and you're brought back to a much younger self. A thirteen year old self whose self-esteem was non-existent, and whose hobbies consisted of listening to angry rock songs internalizing all her pain. Funny how just one look can send you back four years.

But you've made promises to yourself, promises you intend to keep. You're not going to be that same pathetic, pitiable girl. You're confident, cocky, and devil-may-care attitude has defined you for the last two years. You're Toni Winchester. You're not a girl, you're a woman. You scream 'fuck the world' at the top of your lungs, and don't give a shit what anyone thinks about you.

But deep within yourself you know that saying it as many times as you can isn't going to make it true.

* * *

><p><em>And I'm talking to myself at night because I can't forget. Back and forth through my mind behind a cigarette. And the message coming from my eyes says leave it alone.<em>

* * *

><p>You've had an unsuccessful argument with your brothers for almost the entire day now, and Bobby and Max are nowhere to be found. That's probably for the best. The fights between you, Sam and Dean are never pleasant. You've been told they're excruciatingly uncomfortable to witness.<p>

For some strange reason, Sam and Dean were angry that Max had taken your advice and skipped out through the upstairs window. You thought they would be glad to get rid of him. From what you can gather from their whispered conversations when they think you can't hear them, is that they're waiting for him to come back. You hate to disappoint them, but there's no way Max will be returning here any time soon. He was here to get answers from Bobby, and now that he has them he's probably half way to Texas by now. You're working on a theory that if you tell yourself you don't care enough times you'll be convinced. So far there's no proof that it's working.

The only thing that's been accomplished today is you will be returning to life on the road with the two idiots that somehow share your DNA. They promised to respect and listen to you, you promised not to jump out of any more cars. They also mentioned something about amputating body parts if they find any pot on you. You're not too concerned about that condition. Smoking grass was only a habit you picked up cause of the crowd you hung around with. Now that they're gone you don't have much of a reason to continue.

* * *

><p><em>Don't want to hear about it. Every single one's got a story to tell. Everyone knows about it, from the Queen of England to the hounds of hell.<em>

* * *

><p>You're packing up your duffel once more, feeling slightly defeated. You tried to break away from this life, but somehow you always find your way back. This time will be different, you promise yourself. This time, it won't be "Yes sir, no sir" and military drills and always staying behind. Your brother's and you will be equals. You'll kick some demon ass and travel the country. "Oh well," you muse, "At least there won't be any homework."<p>

When the Impala is packed and ready to go you glance around the house once more. "Where's Bobby?" you ask trying to hide the disappointment in your voice. You wanted to say goodbye to him in person. Dean slams the truck and opening the driver's door answers brusquely, "He's busy. You can call him later if you want to talk."

You are suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling that you've forgotten something. You shout, "I'll be right back!" to your brothers and dash into the house. You race up the stairs, intent on combing the guest room in hopes of recovering what was presumably lost. Your heart almost stops the moment you reach the door.

Leaning apathetically against the windowsill is Max. As you enter he walks up to you. He grabs your arms and stares almost searchingly into your eyes. He starts to say something but all you can think about are his strikingly blue eyes, and you wonder how you possibly could have missed them before.

"I thought you'd be halfway to Texas by now," you remark, trying to keep your voice casual.

"I couldn't leave without seeing you," he whispers.

"That's got to be one of the most overused lines in history," you laugh. Sobering up you begin with trepidation, "I'm sorry 'bout your dad. Did you find all the answers you were looking for?"

He avoids your gaze and mutters, "No. But I don't think most people ever do in these cases." Then changing the subject he asks, "You off with your brothers again?"

You shrug, "Looks that way."

"The way you was tellin' it, I'd of thought that's the last place on Earth you want to be."

You sigh feeling uncomfortable and, rubbing the back of your neck assure Max, "Things will be different this time."

He throws a playful smirk your way and drawls, "Ya' know, Einstein's definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and expecting different results."

"Where'd you here that?"

"I've read a few books," Max defends, pretending to be offended.

"Ya? Only the ones with pictures right?"

He laughs and begins to stare at you again. You don't like the look in his eyes. It suggests he might feel something. Something other than the vague indifference you've been pretending to feel. It makes you guarded

"Look you don't have to worry 'bout me. I've had lots of experience saying goodbye."

His scrutinizing is so unbearable you're forced to look away. That deep silky voice that tugs on your heart and messes with your mind declares, "Well maybe I'm the one who needs help this time."

With his customarily impeccable timing, Dean slams open the door and shouts, "Yo Toni we gotta…What the hell?" Eyes bulging out of their sockets at the sight of you and Max in close proximity he thunders, "Sam! Get up here!"

Rolling your eyes you groan, "Dean, calm down. This is Max Kelly. Max, Dean, Dean Max. All good? Great let's go."

As per usual, no one takes your advice. Sam bursts into the room and upon seeing Max immediately tackles him to the ground. You stare exasperatedly at the two guys wrestling on the floor like ten year olds. "Dean! Do something!" you implore.

You can tell he's enjoying this and you continue to shoot daggers at him until he relents and pulls Sam and Max apart.

Sam's sporting some nasty bruises and Max has a split lip. He spits out blood and yells at Sam, "What the hell man?"

Dean holds Sam as he lunges towards Max screaming, "Stay away from my sister!"

"Shut up Sam!" you reproach him.

Ignoring you, your brother continues to berate him, "What's the matter with you? She's only seventeen!"

"Listen man, I don't know who you think you are…"

"We're her brothers that's who! And if you know what's good for you you'll stay the hell away." Dean commanded glowering at Max.

"I think Toni's old enough to make that decision for herself," he argued calmly.

"Toni's already made her decision."

"Toni can talk!" you scream exasperatedly. After glaring reproachfully at your brothers you turn to Max. "It's like I already said, I'm going back on the road. We've got some stuff to take care of and we have to do it as a family. Maybe when this is all over we'll see each other again. But for now we gotta go our separate ways."

He analyzes you for a while, prompting a rude cough from Dean. When he finally speaks you begin to notice for the first time the age difference between you two. "You're free to do whatever you want Toni, you know I'd respect your decision either way. But look me in the eyes and tell me this isn't a cop out."

You're too shocked to say anything and he takes your silence as confirmation. "You pretend like you're some confident girl who's got it all figured out, but all you really do is 'fake it till you make it'. You can keep telling yourself that you don't need anyone, but one day you'll wake up and find you've pushed everyone away."

As Sam makes a move towards Max he backtracks quickly, "So maybe you're right. Maybe we will see each other again. I hope by then you will have learned the difference between living and just pretending. Goodbye Toni."

* * *

><p>The drive afterwards is long and awkward. Dean won't say it, but he's thrilled at the prospect of being on the road again. Sam's still irritated by the whole 'Max' incident. You're not one for apologies, so you estimate two or three days until you Sam simply fall back into your regular patterns. That'll give him time to sulk and you time to grieve. Although you'd vehemently deny it, you're starting to wonder if Max was right about you. One thing's for sure, thinking about him gives you the feeling of slicing an already open wound. Your heart bleeds for the Texan you hope to never see again.<p>

* * *

><p><em>And I'm bleeding, and I'm bleeding, and I'm bleeding right before the Lord. All the words are gonna bleed from me and I will sing no more. And the stains coming from my blood tell me go back home.<em>

**I****'m sorry I haven't updated in a few weeks. Things get busy what can I say. But now that SPN is over I have nothing to look forward to except finals! **

**Well anyway tell me what you thought, Max is gone for now, should he come back? I'll try to get some action in the story soon. Anything else Toni **

**should deal with? Review or not, whatever floats your boat.**

_**~Whatsername **_


	8. Celebrity Skin

I don't own Supernatural or Celebrity Skin by Hole.

**VIII**

**Celebrity Skin**

_Oh, make me over__. __I'm all I wanna be.__A walking study,__in demonology. __Oh look at my face, __My name is might have been__. __My name is never was__. __My name's forgotten__._

* * *

><p>About a month has past and still no word from Max, or your father for that matter. The order in which those thoughts came disturbs you. It shouldn't be that way. He's your dad, you should want to find him more than anything, especially more than some guy you barely knew. A guy you slept with. God, why can't you just forget him!<p>

But there's nothing you can do about the aching in your chest. He never gave you his phone number and you never asked. Its better this way, you tell yourself. You can't let yourself want him, it'll just end badly. There's no future for you with him, or anyone for that matter. Being a hunter is like putting your name in a small glass jar, with only a few others swirling around inside. Probability dictates your number will be up sooner than later, it's only a matter of time.

"Rock and Roll ain't noise pollution!" Dean sings out in a very loud and off key sort of growl. "Rock and Roll ain't gonna die!"

You and Sam share a look and you roll your eyes at the oldest Winchester. Dean is one of the bravest, most selfless people you know; but he's also one of the most annoying.

"Cut it out Dean! You sound like a drunk Neil Young" You complain bitterly.

Dean diverts his attention from the wheel for a moment to give you a look that says he's appalled. You shrug your shoulders defensively and say, "Oh come on. Yeah he's great with a guitar but his voice has been shot for years."

"I don't know", Sam interrupts mischievously, "He's kinda got a Lou Reed thing goin for him."

Now it's your turn to look appalled. "Who? Dean or Neil Young?"

"Hey that's not fair", Dean defends, "Everybody knows rock stars don't age well."

"At least they age." Sam mutters. Always the buzz kill. Damn, did he take a class in killing the mood at Stanford?

* * *

><p>It's dark by the time Dean and Sam are finished with their interviews. Some little kid claims he saw a monster kidnap a garbage man named Jenkins in the parking lot of his building. Of course the police think he's just a scared little boy, but you know better. Dean and Sam bicker over the minutia of the case in some bar a few miles outside of town. You ignore them as you steal a swig of Sam's beer. They don't notice, and if they do they don't care. You toy with the idea of snagging some of Dean's drink, but he ordered Whiskey and that's not your type.<p>

Anyway you're taking advantage of the fact that Sam's the one on the outs this time. And in this trio there's only room for one in the dog house. After that little stunt he pulled, running away and shit, Dean hasn't quite been able to forgive and forget. And you thought holding grudges was your specialty.

You find it funny, this little dance they do. "Should we take the case or should we move on?" You wonder if they notice 9 times outta 10 they end up follow their first instinct. "Oh well", you muse, "Maybe they feel better when they pretend to have a choice about the monsters we hunt." The bar you're in is a real seedy joint. There are some locals at the bar, and some has-been motorcycle types have taken over the pool table. Grinning at the prospect of some easy cash, you take advantage of your brothers' preoccupation and undo the top two buttons of your shirt surreptitiously.

"Mind if I play?" you ask innocently. The bikers exchange looks of amusement at the thought of versing a young blond in what they clearly considered to be a "man's" game.

"Are you sure you're up to it little darling?" a man with a ponytail beard asks in a condescending tone.

You laugh foolishly and bat your eyelashes, "It looks like fun."

In no time at all you've cleaned house amongst the bikers. Normally this is the tricky part. Most folks don't take kindly to being hustled by snarky teenagers who aren't even allowed to drink yet. So you have to be careful when choosing a target. Luckily for you the bikers don't seem particularly offended by your duplicity. The worst that happened was a very stocky tattooed biker with a mustache and sideburns got upset when you conned $50 bucks off him. However his red haired girlfriend calmed him down. Eyeing you shrewdly she remarked,

"You got spunk girl, I like that. I'd bet anything pool isn't your only talent."

You grin at her and figure now's the time to quit while you're ahead. Something tells you she's got the measure of your game. But you're not upset. In fact, you're feeling pretty damn satisfied right about now. $150 isn't bad for a nights work. You're about to go find Sam and brag about your unexpected windfall when Dean spots you and makes a beeline for you. Thinking you're in trouble over something you try to slip away but he's too quick.

"Toni! Hey Toni!" he yells urgently.

Giving up you turn to face him, "Where's the fire Dean?"

He doesn't acknowledge your sarcasm, "Sam's missing."

* * *

><p>You don't see what help the police could possibly offer. Sam's an adult, he's 21, and it's only been about 10 hours since he disappeared. But there's no reasoning with Dean right now. And you hate to admit it, but you don't have a backup plan. Before he sent you into the Hibbing, Minnesota Police Department, Dean offers a few helpful hints. You use the term 'offer' loosely.<p>

"Wipe that shit off your face Toni," Dean grumbled moodily. Then he grabs you by the arm and gives you a once over. You can't help but notice he seems upset by the girl standing before him. And you're sure you know why. If you saw a picture of Toni Winchester at 15 and then saw her at 17, you'd barely recognize her.

At 15 you were innocent. Sure you'd seen the heinous acts demons and other worldly creatures had performed. You had never known you're mother, and your childhood was over in the blink of an eye. But to some extent you were sheltered. Your father, Dean, and even Sam had protected you, and kept you pure. It's ironic that the monsters you consorted with on a daily basis did less damage then the human ones you met at 15.

Now your natural golden locks have been bleached platinum blond. There are even a few red streaks in your hair, sometimes you forget they're there. At 15 you had a healthy and tan, albeit underdeveloped body. Well you have boobs now, but the pale and slightly emaciated coke whore look hasn't yet faded since you rejoined your brothers in this never ending quest for vengeance.

Dean's making a face that looks like he smelt something noxious, and you feel his eyes travel to your ears. You're overcome with the urge to laugh as you remember first reaction to the self-inflicted holes in your body.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::_Flashback_::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

You were standing in front of a dingy motel mirror; it was early in the morning so your hair was piled in the top of your head in a lopsided bun.

"Has anyone seen the toothpaste?" Dean asked.

You shrug your shoulders in response but Dean spots it lying half open on the sink.

"Jesus Toni, its right in front of your goddamn face."

As he reached over your shoulder for the elusive toothpaste something caught his eye.

"Tone, you got something on your ear..."

You slap his hand away, "There's nothing on my ear, idiot."

Confused he continues, "Then what's that..." realization dawns on him and he looks repulsed.

"What the hell did you do to yourself?"

You shrug and begin to apply a generous amount of eyeliner to your upper lid.

"Relax Dean, they're just a few piercings."

Now he's really mad, "A few? I count..."

"Nine" you interrupt; math was never his strong suit. "4 on both ears and one right here," you smile tapping your nose.

Dean looks like he's gonna be sick. He leaves the bathroom muttering something about crazy freakin teenagers putting holes in their faces. You smile and continue to apply your makeup. Dean was so old-fashioned. It's a good thing he's never seen your tattoo.

* * *

><p>"Toni," Dean says bringing you back to reality, "Button your freakin shirt up. Try and look like a kid for once."<p>

You let out an exasperated sigh, but you see where he's going with this one. You tell your oldest brother not to worry, and putting your hair into pigtails you enter the police station.

You make your way to the front desk, opting for the waterworks rather than subtlety. You get the attention of the lady cop who's working the front desk. You begin sniffling and crying noisily. When she sees you standing there, all teary eyed, she asks you what's wrong. In no time at all you have her eating out of the palm of your hand.

* * *

><p>Your breath is coming in shortened gasps, and your head is spinning. How did this happen? What the hell is going on? You can't think. Your brain doesn't seem to be working. You're acting off raw instinct as you scramble away from the drooling maniac who's advancing on you with a knife. The shed's dark and smells like blood and piss. He's so close you can make out the whites of his eyes. You trip over some sort of crate and land flat on your back.<p>

He's on you in a second, dragging the rusty knife across the skin covering your collarbone. His eyes are bulging and his crooked smile reveals a fractured mentality. The inbred psychopath is caressing your skin and whispering to himself. Judging by the pictures of previous victims that adorn the walls, he isn't planning on letting you go anytime soon. Screw this, your not gonna let some backwards hillbilly freak use your skin for a dress. The corroded knife breaks the surface of your flesh.

You swear loudly and something inside you snaps.

Your body moves without your consent. Punching, kicking, and scratching blindly until your attacker falters. You seize the chance and roll out from under him. As if seeing it for the first time you stare at the gun in your hand. It's yours, it's loaded, that's all you need to know. You don't take aim, you just fire. Once, twice, again, again and again. He stopped moving but you kept shooting. Then you sink to the ground.

The mud floor of the shack is wet and slimy. There are sporadic clumps of grass growing and you sincerely hope there's nothing too toxic in the air. The putrid stench that surrounded you ever since you stepped foot on the property has a strong presence in this shack. You should move, go find Sam and Dean, but you can't. So you sit in the mud and stare at the corpse beside you, too numb to think about it all.

* * *

><p><em>When I wake up, in my makeup<em>_, __have you ever felt so used up as this__?__ It's all so sugarless__,__  
>Hooker waitress, model actress, <em>_oh just go nameless. __Honeysuckle__, __she's full of poison__.__ She obliterated everything she kissed__. __You want a part of me__? __Well I'm not selling cheap__. N__o I'm not selling cheap._

* * *

><p><strong> Hey there, if your still reading then props to you. Sorry this stories been on the backburner lately, but hopefully I can get it up and running <strong>

**sometime soon. Special thanks to TaylorPaige24, for reminding me about Toni and the rest of the Supernatural gang I had left hanging. I'll try my **

**best but there are no guarantees as to when the next chapter will be up. Thoughts, questions, criticisms? Review if you're so inclined.**

**~Whatsername **


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